


His Majesty Goes on Holiday

by Anonymous



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, Arranged Marriage, Asphyxiation, Dom/sub, Experimentation, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Hiding Medical Issues, Huddling For Warmth, M/M, Marriage, Mpreg, Multi, Oral Sex, Pining, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Pregnancy, Rimming, Sharing a Bed, Smut, Spitroasting, Under-negotiated Kink, coming on command
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:27:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25726642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: King Owen has worked himself into a state of utter exhaustion. His physician prescribes a holiday. His husband and his lover are more than happy to enforce bed rest.
Relationships: King/His Best Friend/His Arranged-Marriage Husband
Comments: 15
Kudos: 71
Collections: Anonymous, Battleship 2020, Battleship 2020 - Ocean Witch, Battleship 2020 - Yellow Team





	His Majesty Goes on Holiday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StormyDaze](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormyDaze/gifts).



Everything seemed fine until King Owen fainted after a meeting with his ministers of finance and health. They stood up, the ministers bowed, and the king sagged gently at the knees and folded up like a pocketknife.

Michael was near enough to catch him and got him down to the floor. The minister of finance hurried to call the king's personal physician; the minister of health, who was conveniently also a physician, began checking the king's vital signs. "His pulse is strong," she said. "He'll wake up in a minute. I'll be honest with you, Michael, I think he's just overworked himself."

Michael hovered, desperately wanting to stroke the king's hair back from his forehead and holding himself back by sheer force of will and propriety. Dr. Morgan glanced at him once and then pretended not to notice, which he appreciated. King Owen's relationship with his secretary wasn't really hidden from anyone who cared to look, but it hadn't yet reached the point where people felt they could comment on it directly.

The king did regain consciousness shortly, and Michael had him back in his rooms and lying down in bed with his personal physician attending him approximately three seconds later. Dr. Hughes agreed with Dr. Morgan's diagnosis: exhaustion, compounded by not eating enough. "I prescribe a holiday," she said as Prince Hans hurried into the room. "A real one. Don't take calls, don't bring work with you. Go out in the woods where there's no one to bother you. Just you and the prince. Two weeks, minimum."

"One week," Owen said. "I can't possibly take more time than that."

"A holiday?" Hans said. "Is it just overwork, then?"

"Not _just_ ," Dr. Hughes said. "It takes quite a lot of overwork to get to the point of randomly passing out. How much is he sleeping? Eating?"

"Not enough," Hans and Michael said together. Michael was suddenly very interested in his iPad. "A holiday sounds wonderful," Hans said, smoothly covering for him. "We never did take a proper honeymoon." He gave his husband a gentle smile that clearly said _I'm going to rip you a new one as soon as no one else is around_.

"I'll clear your calendar, sire," Michael said. "Starting tomorrow. And yes, for two weeks."

"You can't," Owen said weakly, trying to prop himself up on one elbow. Hans gently pushed him back down. "The Brazilian delegation—"

"—can reschedule," Dr. Hughes said. "I'm serious, your majesty. You must rest and recover now, especially with a baby on the way. You know how demanding the days and nights of early parenthood can be."

"I'll offer to have the Brazilians toured around the region," Michael said, making a note. "Maybe they need a holiday too."

"The baby's not due for months," Owen protested. "Maybe in June—"

"When I'm exhausted and uncomfortable and waddling like a goose?" Hans said, patting his gently curving belly. "No, thank you, I would like this holiday while I'm still able to enjoy it."

"The second trimester is a good time to travel," Dr. Hughes said, gathering her things.

"Thank you, doctor," Hans said. "I assure you I will make him rest."

"Please do," the doctor said. "It's best for you and best for the kingdom, sire." She bowed and whisked away.

"I'm king, I'll decide what's best for the kingdom!" Owen snapped at her retreating back. Then he let his head fall back on the pillow, his strength ebbing.

The door closed and he was left alone with his worried boyfriend and furious pregnant husband.

"How long have you been feeling like this?" Michael asked, pulling up a chair for Hans and then one for himself. Even though he and Owen had been together for years before Owen and Hans were even introduced, he was always conscious of Hans being Owen's official partner—not to mention a prince, and though Michael's family didn't lack for nobility, he had no title of his own. No matter how much both Owen and Hans told him it was unnecessary in private, he couldn't shake the habit of being deferential.

"I didn't feel like _this_ , exactly," Owen said, not meeting their eyes.

"How, the fuck, exactly, did you feel," Hans said.

There was a long, drawn-out silence.

"Tired," Owen admitted finally. "Dizzy. Never really hungry. My head hurts a lot. I'm stressed out of my mind. Depressed." He rubbed his eyes. "There's so much to do and I'm the only one who can do it."

"That's not true," Michael said. "I've been begging you to delegate things. To me, to your ministers, to Hans—"

"Hans is pregnant!"

"Hans is _right here_ ," Hans said, seething, "and being pregnant doesn't make me _incapable_. I'm only four months along, and this one is much better behaved than Erika was. I don't feel tired at all yet. I certainly feel better than you do right now. And you should damn well let me negotiate your trade deals. Or else what did you marry me for? Anyone could have sat around the palace having babies, you don't need advanced degrees in economics for that."

"I married you because I loved you," Owen said, attempting a winsome smile. The flirtation would have been more believable if he weren't nearly as pale as the white sheet he lay on. 

Michael snorted. "That's not how I remember it," he said.

"You're ridiculous," Hans said. " _Now_ you love me, inexplicably. _Then_ you did what your mother told you to. And she was right, so let me _help_ you."

"I don't want to put more demands on your time and take you away from Erika," Owen said. "She needs her papa."

Michael raised an eyebrow. The Erika gambit was a strong one. But Hans didn't take the bait. "Carys does a fine job with her," Hans said. "She's a very capable nanny. This is how it is for royal children, Owen, you remember."

"It's not how it was for me," Owen said. "I got loads of time with my parents. Too much, sometimes." He and Michael exchanged a quick smile, remembering how often then-Prince Owen had snuck over to his best friend's house for a break from his sometimes overbearing family—including more than one evening of complaining about the very boring economist husband they'd picked out for him.

"Well, true, your mother didn't take the throne until you were an adult, so she wasn't as busy as you are," Hans said. "But it's how it was for me and I'm fine, I love my parents and they love me and I understand they can't really be expected to do things the same way as a professor or an accountant or someone who works office hours."

"Can we at least bring Mum and Erika with us?" Owen said wistfully. "Thinking about Mama... I miss family time." It had been three years since the queen's untimely death, and the loss still weighed on Owen alongside the burden of taking the throne decades sooner than he'd expected.

Hans's anger, always quick to rise and quick to fade, was ebbing. He gently took his husband's hand. "You know I'd love a family trip," he said. "but that wouldn't be a holiday, really, would it? Not just your mum and Erika with us but Carys too, and Erika's a little whirlwind, we'd have to devise all sorts of entertainment and run around keeping up with her. No, I want you to _rest_. We're going up to the lodge at Giant's Peak and we're going to sit ourselves down in the middle of the woods and do fuck-all."

"Oh, that sounds perfect," Michael said. "I'll have the staff up there get the dust cloths off." He glanced up. "Will it... just be the two of you, then?"

Hans and Owen turned to him with identical indignant expressions. "Of course not," Owen said at once.

"Don't be stupid," Hans said, with love. "He'll be even more insufferable without you."

"Hans would miss you too," Owen said.

"Hans is _right here_ ," Hans said. "And would miss you too. Please, do come."

Michael ducked his head shyly. "Just thought I'd make sure," he said. "I'll tell them to expect us tomorrow."

Owen groaned. "A day more? Please? Just to wrap up a few things..."

"Tomorrow," Hans said.

"Tomorrow," Michael said. "Doctor's orders."

"And for God's sake, the next time you start to feel dizzy and awful, _tell us_ ," Hans said, giving Owen's hand a little shake. "No more fainting. I'm the pregnant one, if anyone's going to swoon pathetically, it's me."

"Don't you dare," Owen said. "Once was bad enough."

Hans frowned. "What once?"

"When you were eight months pregnant with Erika and passed out and hit your head!"

"Oh, that." Hans waved a hand dismissively. "A little bump."

"Little bump nothing," Owen retorted, "since it apparently knocked a hole in your memories."

Michael could see the signs of impending make-up sex. He dropped a kiss on Owen's forehead and slipped away, leaving the husbands arguing and laughing behind him.

~

_Michael: Should I pack the full kit?_

_Hans: i think so..... he is not so tired as all that_

_Hans: even if we don't want it right away maybe useful to have for later_

Michael put his phone away and went to get the black suitcase out of his closet. The staff would do most of the packing for Owen and Hans, but he preferred to do his own, not least for the sake of privacy around certain things.

He opened the bag and did a quick inventory, making sure the lube wasn't leaking and the condoms weren't expired. (No condom brought into the castle had ever come near its expiration date, but Michael was thorough.) He hesitated over some of the impact toys. It was hard to picture Owen feeling up to swinging a flogger. But Hans was right, after a few days of rest he'd probably regain a lot of his strength.

Or maybe Hans could—

Michael hurriedly pushed the thought into his mental trove of illicit thoughts about Hans and locked the door. 

Michael was devoted to Owen; that was how it had been since they were boys. When Owen had offered him a cabinet position, he'd turned it down, preferring the intimacy and sort of bossy subservience that came with being his majesty's secretary. Hans and Owen had a different dynamic entirely. They had married willingly but without an expectation of real closeness, and had been as surprised as anyone when their habit of challenging each other led to cherishing each other. 

Hans seemed serenely unbothered by his husband having a very kinky lover. Once Michael watched Owen and Hans butt heads a few times, he let go of his fear that Hans would replace him; the royal consort was anything but submissive. Despite their differences, Michael and Hans had become firm friends and often played gin rummy together, commiserating over Owen's stubbornness and occasional bizarre flights of fancy. The three of them really were a family unit, a fact that he knew had not escaped notice, and over time they'd cared less and less about hiding it. 

But in the bedroom, Michael belonged to Owen alone. When the three of them shared a bed—which didn't happen often, and only by Owen's explicit request—Hans and Michael collaborated on Owen's pleasure, or took turns playing with him. This was perfectly understandable, Michael told himself. The way Hans and Owen wrestled for dominance was nothing like the way Michael lost himself in subspace. Michael loved hard, thuddy pain and Owen was happy to give it to him; Hans showed no inclination toward either sadism or masochism. Owen seemed almost like two different people with the two of them: stern and exacting with Michael, gleefully messy with Hans. It was hard to see how all of that could mix.

And anyway, Hans had never really shown an interest in Michael. There was that one time he'd gotten a bit drunk and made a pass over the card table, but Michael had scrupulously refused to do anything while Hans was under the influence, and neither of them had ever mentioned it again. Michael certainly wasn't about to be the first to bring it up. Hans had probably forgotten, and if he remembered but no longer wanted to pursue the question, Michael saying something would only embarrass them both. If that one moment of flirtation had led to an awful lot of private fantasizing on Michael's part, that was no one's business but his. 

He realized he was daydreaming, and shook his head to clear it. His luggage wasn't going to pack itself. He zipped up the suitcase and set it by the door of his room to make sure he wouldn't forget it, and started going through his warmest winter clothes.

~

It took a lot of cajoling (Michael) and scolding (Hans) but they managed to get Owen out the door right after lunch, and their SUV arrived at the lodge just as the sun was setting over the snow-covered mountain. Owen's family called it "the cabin," but its rustic style didn't disguise its size; it was a traditional place to host foreign dignitaries, which meant having room for their staff. "The three of us will be knocking about the place," Owen said as they went up to their bedrooms. "I'm not used to being here without all sorts of ambassadors and spies underfoot."

"We can pretend to be an ambassador and a spy if you like," Hans said. He grinned, glancing back down the stairs at Michael. "I will be the ambassador and Michael will be the spy, and then you can catch him snooping and interrogate him. I'll be shocked, completely shocked, that someone on my staff dared to spy on you, and will have to find some way to make amends and save our negotiations. Perhaps I should punish him myself."

Michael went warm all over and nearly stumbled over a step. Was Hans suggesting...? Was he _interested_?

"Careful," Hans called to him, "if you're so noisy no one will believe you're a spy!"

"I'll think about it," Owen said, stopping on a landing to catch his breath. "Not sure I'm up for interrogating anyone right now."

As Hans put an arm around Owen, Michael hurried to catch up with them, focusing his whirling mind on taking care of his king. "Forget all that," he said. "Let's get you upstairs and then you won't need to go back down again. We'll have them bring up supper to eat in your room."

"I should have suggested we take the elevator," Hans said apologetically. "I didn't think."

"I'm all right, I'm all right," Owen said. "Just needed to stop for a moment. Come on, you mother hens." But he didn't protest as the two of them bracketed him and helped him up the rest of the flight of stairs. 

Michael was very reluctant to leave Owen and Hans at their room, but he wanted to freshen up a bit, and they both reassured him they could live without him for a few minutes, so he went down the hall to the Pine Suite. He'd taken the liberty of reserving one of the fancier suites for himself, the sort that usually went to visiting heads of state. It was nearly as nice as the royal suite. The high four-poster bed was absolutely enormous—were heads of state assumed to have multiple paramours, or did they just like to sprawl?—and there was a cozy parlor and a conference room that would easily seat six and could squeeze in eight. Each room boasted a wood-burning fireplace, more for rustic appearance than for function; the real heat came from discreet grates set into the wainscoting, and the rooms had individual thermostats. The en-suite bath boasted a whirlpool tub as well as a standing shower that could comfortably fit two people, and there was a separate WC off the conference room. _Just a cabin,_ he thought, laughing.

He made sure all his luggage had been delivered (and left untouched for him to unpack, per his request) and quickly changed his shirt and splashed a bit of water on his face to clear away the feeling of the long drive. The bedroom was a little chilly, and he made sure the heavy drapes were drawn and turned up the heat. Then he went back to the royal suite, rapping three-and-two on the door.

Hans let him in, still in the loose cotton trousers and tunic he'd worn for the drive. Just the thought of being so lightly dressed in February made Michael shiver. Owen had changed into sweatpants and a hoodie and was on the parlor sofa with his slippered feet up on the coffee table, watching a football game. He looked entirely at home. "Are you ready for supper?" he said, looking up. "I'm famished."

"You didn't have to wait for me," Michael said, surprised and touched. "Being king and all."

Owen waved a hand. "I'm on holiday," he said. "For the next two weeks, no one will stand on ceremony. I decree it." He squinted. "All right, I'm king enough to decree that, anyway."

"Being king enough to decree that you are no longer king is called abdication," Hans said, settling down in an overstuffed armchair. "That seems like an extreme way to get a holiday."

"Temporary abdication," Owen said. "Isn't that what the two of you wanted?"

"What surprises me is that we're getting it," Hans said. "Michael, will you ring down for supper?"

Michael was already picking up the house phone. Now that he'd recovered from the drive up the winding mountain roads, his stomach was grumbling too.

No one wanted the formality of dining at the conference table. They stayed in the parlor, eating with their plates on their laps like barbarians. "Is it me or is it a bit cold in here?" Owen said, scraping up a last spoonful of crème brûlée. Michael was pleased to see him cleaning his plate for the first time in weeks.

"It seems fine to me," Hans said.

"Yes, but you're a penguin."

"A polar bear," Hans corrected him. "Penguins are Antarctic."

"My room was cold too," Michael said. "Perils of coming to Giant's Peak in February, I think."

"It's lovely, though," Hans said. "All the snow. I've missed snow."

"You two can go skiing," Owen said, a little wistfully. He loved to ski.

Hans reached out and took his hand. "We will all ski together once you've recovered. Just a few days of enough food and nights of enough sleep will do you a world of good."

"I'll start keeping a list of things to do when you're feeling better," Michael said, pulling up Evernote on his phone. "Mostly to stop you from doing them all at once."

"Who, me?" Owen said. "What are you two laughing at?" He caught the crumpled dinner napkin Hans aimed at his face. "This is an assault on my royal dignity!"

"Michael," Hans said, "please add a pillow fight to that list. I think someone's royal dignity could use being further assaulted."

"Pillow... fight," Michael recited, typing.

"Just you wait," Owen said. "When I'm hale and hearty again, the two of you are going to be pillow-fought within an inch of your life."

Every time Owen said _the two of you_ , Michael glowed a little. "I'm going to be so spoiled by two weeks of this," he said.

"Two weeks of me threatening to hit you with a pillow?"

"No, I know what he means," Hans said unexpectedly. "Two weeks of _this_. The three of us being the _three_ of us."

Michael nodded, very moved that Hans had noticed and understood—that being _the three of us_ maybe mattered as much to Hans as it did to him. "Yes," he said. "Exactly."

Owen looked over at him, knowing, and glanced at the floor near his chair. Michael immediately put his phone on the coffee table and came to kneel by Owen's feet. "Thank you, sir," he said quietly. To anyone else it might have sounded almost like _sire_ , but the two of them knew the difference. He rested his head on Owen's knee, closing his eyes, and Owen gently stroked his hair.

Some wordless communication must have passed between Owen and Hans—perhaps a similar glance at the floor to Owen's right, and Michael could just picture Owen's smirk at the joke—because Hans laughed and said, "No, thank you. But I love watching the two of you."

"Come sit over here, at least," Owen said. A moment later, Michael felt Hans sit down on the sofa, leaning against Owen's side. The two of them were such a lovely pair, Hans tall and fair, Owen short and dark, Hans's rounding pregnant belly looking not unlike Owen's adorable little paunch. One of Hans's feet nudged gently at Michael's leg, and didn't move away.

 _What a good family we are,_ Michael thought.

They enjoyed a few moments' peace, listening to the fire crackle in the fireplace and the windows occasionally creak in the wind, and then Michael's watch buzzed. "Go ahead," Owen said. Michael reluctantly sat up and checked the notification.

"Oh dear," he said. "Mr. Hill regrets to inform us that the furnace has gone out, and can't be restarted."

"That's a bother," Owen said. "When will someone be by to fix it?"

Reading long texts on the watch was a pain. Michael looked around for his phone; Hans snagged it and passed it to him. "He says... tomorrow morning, most likely. There's a spare in storage, so it can be replaced quickly if need be."

"What about tonight?" Hans asked.

"They'll build up the fires in our bedrooms and send up extra duvets and foot-warmers." Michael wrinkled his nose. Even with those measures, he suspected he'd be chilled by morning. He hated being cold, and he was always cold.

Owen looked down at him. "Do you want to sleep in here with us?"

"Oh," Michael said, startled. He and Owen hadn't slept next to each other since they were children. "Y-yes, I'd love that. If it's all right with Hans."

"Our bed is so big I get lost in it," Hans said. "Plenty of room. Just don't hog the covers. Or the king."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Michael said. Beneath Hans's casual tone, he heard an echo of _the three of us_. He felt warmer already. "Thank you both."

A soft knock on the door signaled the arrival of the housekeeping staff, and their blissful moment was spoiled by the bustle of dishes being taken away and bedding being brought. Michael went to supervise arrangements in his room, feeling a bit guilty that all this effort was going into warming a bed he didn't plan to use. But it was best to keep up appearances. Once the housekeeper had left, he got into bed, rolled around enough to muss the sheets, and got out again so the morning housekeeper wouldn't have any reason to gossip that his bed hadn't been slept in. He was used to this sort of dissembling, but sometimes he wished he and Owen—he and Owen and Hans—could be really open about their relationship. Maybe someday...

He made sure the fire in his bedroom fireplace was pulled apart enough to go out safely. Then he tucked his toiletry kit, pajamas, and the morning's clean clothes into a small bag, put it on top of the black suitcase, and wheeled it down the hall. 

Hans opened the door for him, glanced down at the suitcase, and then met his eyes with such an intense look of desire that Michael's breath caught in his throat and his cock stirred. Hans had never looked at him that way, except for that one night. What was going on? Flirting with him on the stairs, welcoming him into their bed, now this...

"You're letting a draft in," Owen called out.

Still holding Michael's gaze, Hans stepped back and held the door open. With effort, Michael looked away. His heart was pounding. Somehow he got himself and the luggage in. The sound of Hans closing and latching the door behind him was very loud.

Owen, damp-haired and wearing a dressing gown, came out of the bedroom and smiled wanly. "I don't think I can do anything with that tonight," he said. "It's a dreadful cliché, but I've got a headache coming on. If the two of you are in the mood, you'll have to entertain yourselves."

A few days ago, Michael would have laughed at the idea of Hans being interested in him without Owen being directly involved. Now he wasn't laughing at all, especially when Hans came up behind him and ran a hand down his arm. "I'm in the mood," Hans said in a low voice. "Are you?"

"Yes," Michael said, his breath coming fast. "But, Hans—what—we haven't—"

"Leave the poor man alone for a moment," Owen said. "You know he's not going to be happy unless you actually negotiate things."

Hans sighed and went to sit on the sofa. Owen pointedly took one of the armchairs. Michael slowly sank into the other chair. He wanted to see them both.

"I don't know what's so complicated about it," Hans said. "Michael, I want to bend you over and fuck you until you see stars." He shrugged. "There, that's my negotiating position."

Michael was practically seeing stars already. He shot Owen a pleading look. "I'm not rescuing you," Owen told him. "You both have my blessing, and that's the extent of my participation in this conversation."

"When." Michael cleared his throat. "When did this... how...?"

"I tried flirting with you months ago, and you didn't really seem interested," Hans said. "So I let it drop. But last night Owen said I should try again."

"Last night," Owen interjected, having immediately forgotten his vow of silence, "I said it was too bad the two of you didn't play without me, because it would be fun to watch even if I was too worn out to join in. And Hans said he'd be happy to but he didn't think you wanted to. And then I laughed very hard and told him to try asking you outright."

"Was I that obvious?" Michael said, chagrined.

"Oh yes," Owen said. "To me, anyway."

"Not to me!" Hans said. "You shut me down fast that one time."

"You were drunk."

"I was tipsy!"

"I don't discuss these things while impaired," Michael said, aware that he sounded a bit prissy but not willing to compromise on this point. "Too many opportunities for regret."

"Well," Hans said, lifting his bottle of Badoit, "you know all I'm drinking these days is sparkling water. And I still want to make you scream into a pillow. And I don't think I'll regret it."

Michael swallowed nervously. "I'm... I've never been with anyone but Owen. I don't really know how to... with anyone else."

"I didn't know that," Owen said. "Wasn't there some girl at uni—"

Michael opened his mouth to interrupt before they got too far off track, but Hans was faster. "Doesn't matter," he said. "Michael, I'll show you. Tell you. It won't be like it is with Owen, you're his, not mine, I get that. But I can run the show."

"Then yes," Michael said, feeling immensely relieved. "Yes, please."

Hans beamed. "Is there anything you particularly want?"

"Everything," Michael said immediately. The others laughed. Michael blushed but kept his head up. "Everything," he said again. "You. I want you." _God_ but it felt good to say it out loud at last. "Whatever you want from me, I want to give you."

Hans looked ready to take him right then and there, but he controlled himself for the sake of at least a bare-bones discussion, a concession that Michael greatly appreciated. "And is there anything that's off limits?"

Michael thought about it, but all he could think of were things he very much _did_ want Hans to do to him. "No," he said. "If I need something to stop, I'll tell you. Or Owen can, probably, he sometimes knows I'm nearing a limit before I do." Then a thought occurred to him. "Owen will be there, won't he?"

"Of course," Hans said. "Do you think I'd deny him the chance to see your face while you're getting reamed within an inch of your life? I've gotten to see it while it's him doing it, and it's a very pretty face, I'll tell you that."

Through a daze of shock and arousal, Michael saw Owen reach into his dressing gown and lazily stroke himself. "I think his face is very pretty right now," Owen said, watching Michael. "All turned on and eager and just a little scared."

Michael closed his eyes. He wanted to throw himself at his sir's feet and be cherished and taken care of, wanted the order and sense-making of submission to help him cope with this totally unexpected turn of events. But he wanted Hans, and he was supposed to be with Hans. But he didn't think Hans would want him kneeling. "Please," he said. "I don't know what to do."

"You do what I tell you to," Hans said. His voice didn't have the sharp edge of _or else_ that Owen's did. He sounded calm, even kind. But he was just as completely in control, and Michael eagerly gave himself up to that control. "All of us," Hans said, "into the bedroom. Michael, bring the suitcase."

They got into the bedroom very quickly. Hans undressed; at his direction, Michael did likewise. Owen popped a couple of paracetamol and then climbed into the football pitch of a bed—another time Michael would have laughed at the absurd status symbol of a bed built for giants, but the way Hans was looking at him left no room for thoughts of joking—and sat up against the pillows, idly caressing his cock as he watched them. Michael expected him to say something, make a suggestion or a wisecrack, but he stayed uncharacteristically quiet. If he looked closely, he could see a tightness around Owen's eyes, but otherwise the king hid his pain expertly. Owen gave Michael a reassuring smile, and Michael selfishly let go of his worry and allowed himself to be reassured. Headache or no, Owen was already doing better just for being away from the palace and all its demands. He'd be fine. It would all be fine.

Hans pressed up against Michael's back, trapping him against the bed. His curving belly was soft but firm, not at all like Owen's; Michael had never particularly had an interest in pregnant bodies but he thought he might acquire one very soon. Hans wrapped long arms around him and held him immobile in a peculiar mix of confinement and embrace.

"I'm not Owen," Hans said. "You know that but I want to make it clear. I like different things than he does. He likes to hurt. I like to tease." He brushed feather-light fingertips across Michael's nipple. Michael shuddered. "He wants you to obey, and he'll praise you if you do well and punish you if you disappoint. Michael..." Michael closed his eyes, overwhelmed by hearing Hans say his name with such affection. "You cannot disappoint me. You can only please me. I'll tell you what to do because that's what helps you feel most comfortable, but if you decide, for once in your life, to improvise, I will celebrate it." His arms tightened. "And if I push you and you push back, not because you just want to make me happy but because a desire, an urge comes from inside you to do that, I will be beyond delighted. Even if you just think of something you want, tell me. I want to _enjoy_ you, and I want you to enjoy me. Whatever form that takes."

Michael trembled. He'd never had such freedom with a lover. He'd never _wanted_ such freedom. But... he didn't dislike it. It was scary but exhilarating. And there was something he wanted, something he'd been wanting...

"I want," he said, and then he stopped because he was so unused to hearing those words come out of his own mouth in a bedroom. "I want your cock in my mouth. Please."

Hans laughed, low and delighted. "Come and get it then," he said, letting go. Michael missed his embrace immediately, not only because the room's chill was much more evident without a large man plastered against his back. 

"Owen, may we join you?" Hans asked. "Or will it jostle you too much?" 

"Go on and jostle me," Owen said. "It's worth it to get a close-up. You're so beautiful together." He managed a ghost of his usual smug grin. "I knew you would be."

"Yes, yes, you're so clever. Move over," Hans said unnecessarily as he pushed the duvets aside and sprawled over half an acre of bed. Michael followed him and slid under the covers, shivering. "You lowlanders," Hans said fondly. "It's hardly cold at aahhh—hah—oh, fuck, Michael—" 

Michael took Hans's short, slender cock into his mouth slowly, inch by inch, savoring the taste and shape of it, the _newness_ of it. He ran his tongue along the hard shaft and dipped his head lower. Hans's hands gripped the sheet and even that was strange and new. Owen would have both hands in his hair by now, moving him, directing him. Hans took whatever Michael gave him. It made Michael want to give him everything.

He looked up and found Owen watching them intently, lips slightly parted as though he was remembering being where Michael was. Michael held his gaze and played it up a little, hollowing his cheeks and moaning softly as he pulled back, letting the moan be cut short as he dipped down and let Hans's cock slide just into his open throat. He heard Owen make a brief, hungry noise and would have smiled if he could, but he was too busy enjoying the way that Hans's cock was just made for endless easy sucking, pleasantly musky and heavy in his mouth, not too thick or too long. _I could stay here all day,_ he thought, and then his mind helpfully supplied a fantasy of kneeling under the conference table and being Hans's cock-warmer through a long and boring meeting, and he was suddenly uncomfortably aware of his own erection pressed between his belly and the bed. Without quite meaning to, he began bobbing his head more quickly, as though he could make himself come by getting Hans off.

"Slow down there," Hans gasped, putting a hand on his head. "I don't want to come yet. Not like this."

Michael slowed down again, relaxing, and took a while just to enjoy himself, as though Hans were a particularly delicious dessert. Hans muttered a litany of "oh fuck" and "so good" and made little thrusts into his mouth. Michael kept catching himself wanting to fall into subspace and surrender to being a receptacle for Hans's pleasure, but that wasn't what this was, that wasn't a thing Hans wanted from him, so he slowed down even more, doing quick clever things with his tongue, until Hans groaned and pushed his head away. "You little cocktease," he said as Michael smiled up at him with swollen lips. "I'd never have known. Well, let's see how you like it, then."

He drew Michael up and rolled him onto his back. Michael readily let it happen—it only belatedly occurred to him that he could have resisted, and anyway, he didn't have any desire to resist. He was excited and curious. He had no idea what Hans was going to do, but he was quite sure he'd like it.

Owen slipped an arm around him and drew him close, nestling Michael's head against his softly furred chest. Michael peered up at him. "You're so quiet," he said. "It's not like you. Are you... is this all right? Are you all right?"

"This is amazing," Owen said, his voice ringing with reassuring sincerity, "and you're both amazing, and I'm desperately wishing I could do more than lie here, but my head feels like it's going to fall off if I move it." He pressed a kiss to the top of Michael's head. "So let me hold you and feel what he's doing to you."

Michael relaxed against him, feeling Owen's approval wash sweetly through him the way it always did. He glanced over at Hans, who was watching them with a look of deep fondness, and then closed his eyes and waited for whatever was going to happen to him.

He felt Hans settle in next to him and soaked up the warmth of being in the middle as gentle fingertips brushed over his chest, his belly, his sides, his thighs. Hans's caresses were tender and teasing, never quite reaching the places where Michael was most sensitive, not tickling but close to it. Michael realized he was holding his breath and made himself release it, trying to feel each sensation as it happened without being caught up in anticipating the next one or hoping for something more direct. Hans had said he liked to tease; Michael wouldn't hurry him. 

But soon he was squirming again, trying to direct those devilish fingers to where he wanted them. Hans and Owen chuckled above him and he blushed. He'd never have let himself show such greediness with Owen alone. He thought Hans wanted to see it, though—wanted to watch those delicate whisper-touches send him tumbling from anticipation to desperation—and Owen wanted to feel it, and he wanted to give them what they wanted. And all right, if he was honest, he _wanted_ to show it, too. He loved being good for Owen but it was such a treat to let go of being good and release his raw, needy, wanting self.

When the word "please" formed in his mouth, he let it escape quietly into the room. As he had hoped, Hans pounced on it with delight. "Please what?" the prince asked, tracing a blunt fingernail in a wide circle around Michael's nipple. "Is there something you want?"

Michael put all his hunger into a vehement " _Yes_ ," arching his back and putting himself on display.

"Michael," Owen murmured in surprise.

"Oh, has there been a greedy bottom locked up inside that proper, controlled submissive all this time?" Hans asked, gently pinching along Michael's inner thigh. Michael jerked and shuddered. "Who could have known." His attempt at a dry tone sounded distinctly triumphant.

"Your turn to be smug," Owen said. He sounded a little... worried? Maybe concerned that Michael liked this better? Michael wanted to reassure him but Hans licked a wide, wet stripe across his navel, warm breath ghosting past the head of his cock, and all that came out of Michael's mouth was an undignified squeak. He reached out for Owen's hand instead, clutched it hard when he found it, and hoped that would say _I'm still yours_ as strongly as he wanted to convey it. Owen squeezed back, and Michael thought he understood.

"Of course I'm smug," Hans said, drifting the flat of his palm just over Michael's throat. Michael tilted his head back, aching for a touch—his neck was absurdly sensitive, and he loved breath play, and he was pretty sure Hans knew both those things from watching him and Owen—but not expecting it. When Hans's hand did settle down and put just a little weight over his throat, Michael's eyes flew open and he gasped like a drowning man. All those teasing touches spiraled together inside him and became a suddenly impending orgasm. "Why wouldn't I be smug?" Hans said, slowly increasing the pressure. Michael thrashed, sucking air through his narrowing trachea, his entire groin painfully tight with the need to come. "Look at him. He's so beautiful. So desperate."

Michael panted, staring up at them, begging with his whole body for some kind of relief. His king and his prince looked down at him, Owen intent, Hans gleaming-eyed. "Would you come for us if we told you?" Hans asked him.

Michael nodded frantically. He couldn't usually come from this, but he was so wildly aroused, and that _us_ —

"Do it," Owen said, and "Come for us, just like this, right now," Hans said, and Michael felt his whole body wind up into itself and then burst forth into glorious release.

Hans kept his hand on Michael's throat just an instant longer than he wanted it, the closest he'd come to a gesture of ownership, and then slid it down to rest over Michael's heart. Owen placed his hand on top of Hans's, and they held Michael together as he gasped and shook and lost himself in the overwhelming wonderfulness of being _theirs_.

Gradually he came back to awareness. His belly was a sticky mess, his cock still twitching. The compulsively tidy part of him wanted to go clean up, but that would mean not being between Hans and Owen anymore, not having their hands laced together over his heart, and he couldn't bear that just yet.

He smiled up at them and managed to croak out, "Thank you." Hans looked positively gleeful; Owen looked a little stunned. Michael realized he was still clutching Owen's other hand, and he gave it a squeeze. "Thank you," he said again, just to Owen. "Sir."

Owen came out of his fog and smiled down at him. "You did very well," he said. Michael nestled against him, glowing.

"All good?" Hans asked Owen. "You look a little... something."

"No, I'm fine!" Owen said. "All fine. That was wonderful."

Hans peered at him. "I just want to remind you that you got yourself in a lot of trouble by pretending to be fine when you weren't."

"I'm not going to spoil this with my ridiculous feelings," Owen began, but Hans glared at him, and he sighed. "All right, it's true, I was a little nervous."

"I'm still yours," Michael said fervently. "Always yours."

Owen drew back, shocked, and then hugged him tightly. "Good God, no, that's not what—no, Michael, I could never doubt you! No, I was worried that all this time I haven't been giving you something you needed."

It was Michael's turn to be shocked. "You give me so much!" he protested. "And I need what you give me. I _liked_ that. No, I _loved_ that." He sent Hans a grateful look and received a loving one that reignited his glow. "But what you and I do, that sustains me. It's just... it's different! _You're_ so different." He waved a hand, trying to find words for it. "It's like trading with one country for timber imports and another for fishing rights."

Hans and Owen both burst out laughing. "Fishing rights?" Hans gasped. "Is that what we're doing?"

"I'd love to plunder his natural resources," Owen said with a leer. "Send a ship down his waterway." But he looked genuinely relieved underneath the play-acting.

"You know what I mean," Michael protested.

"I do," Owen said. He sighed. "I am sorry I couldn't just enjoy it. I'm feeling a little... inadequate. In general. But leaving my own nonsense aside, the two of you are stunningly hot and I want a lot more of this when I'm better able to join in."

"Can I at least help bring you off?" Michael asked. He suddenly wanted to reaffirm that connection between the two of them.

"My head says no," Owen said. He glanced down; the untied dressing gown did nothing to disguise his state of arousal. "My cock says yes. But I think you owe Hans one first."

Michael turned back to Hans, chagrined. "I do. I'm sorry, that was rude of me—"

"For God's sake," Hans said, rolling his eyes. "We aren't actually negotiating trade deals, Michael, so don't be so worried about what's fair or proper. I look forward to the day when you've entirely lost count of orgasms given and gotten."

"All right," Michael said, privately deciding he would keep a tally henceforth, "but I do _want_ to. Not just as a thing that's owed."

Hans traced a finger over his lips. "Think you can handle both of us at once? Sucking him while I fuck you?"

Just like that, Michael was aroused again. "God, yes," he said. He looked down at where his cock was stirring eagerly. "But I need a towel first."

As the prince consort got out of bed to fetch a towel and condoms and lube, and the king shrugged off his dressing gown and lay back invitingly, Michael thought he was quite the luckiest man in the kingdom.

It was a moment's work to get everything arranged, and then Michael knelt between Owen's legs, soaking up the familiar sight of his cock curving up from its nest of curls. Owen reached down and ran a hand through his hair. "I want to hear you," he said with a hint of his usual tone of command. "I want to feel your voice when he's making you moan."

"Yes, sir," Michael said, hearing the whimper of desire in his own voice. How was he so turned on? Hadn't he just come like a rocket?

He leaned down and filled his mouth with Owen's thick, luscious cock, so different from Hans's smaller and more delicate one. He couldn't wait to feel the difference in how they fucked him. Being fucked by Owen was a glorious and satisfying challenge. Being fucked by Hans would be comfortable and easy, he thought, the way going down on him had been.

He listened for the click of the lube bottle being uncapped. Instead, to his shock, he felt Hans's breath on him and then Hans's warm, wet tongue licking eagerly at his hole. Michael whimpered around Owen's cock, bucking back against Hans's mouth. The sensation wasn't like anything else he'd ever felt, hot and slippery and sensuous, and the intimacy of it took his breath away. He loved rimming Owen and had never expected anyone to do it to him. The gift of it felt immense.

As Hans growled softly against him and worked his tongue deeper in, Owen dragged Michael's head down, nudging his cock into Michael's throat. Michael moaned and took him in deep, opening up, opening everything up. His thighs loosened, his jaw loosened, and he felt himself sliding into that euphoric place where he existed to be used. He stared up at Owen, willing him to see, and Owen smiled down at him, knowing exactly what was happening, knowing him so well.

"Hans," Owen said softly. "Michael's gone off into subspace."

Hans lifted his head. Michael suppressed a whine at the loss of that marvelous sensation. "Should I leave the two of you to—"

"No, no," Owen said. "Take him now, he wants it more than anything. I can see it in his face."

Hearing them discuss him without consulting him filled Michael with a blissful sense of peace. They knew, they understood. What he wanted didn't matter now, except insofar as it mattered to them. Tonight it pleased them to give him what he wanted. Another night it might please them to deny him and watch him struggle and submit, or to demolish him with pleasure or pain. All these things were good, were more than good, were perfect. Their pleasure was what he was for.

Hans drizzled lube over Michael's already wet and open hole, smearing it around with the tip of his condom-clad cock. Michael relaxed, yielding to him. _Owen wants to hear me,_ he thought, _and that means I need to breathe,_ so he reluctantly pulled his head back and drew sweet air into his lungs, and when Hans's cock breached him he moaned deep and long, wrapping Owen's cock with the vibrations of his voice.

"Oh, fuck," Owen breathed, and just as Michael had known he would, he grabbed Michael's head and pushed deep into his throat, cutting the sound off. Michael writhed, lungs empty. Hans's cock slid sweetly into him, as delicate as Owen's was brutal—oh, taking Hans was even easier than he'd thought, so easy, so good—and the combination emptied Michael's head of all thought. There was only pleasure and challenge and the need for air.

"Fuck, that's hot," he heard Hans say. Satisfaction suffused him at the knowledge that he was pleasing them both. As Owen pulled back and let Michael gasp for breath, Hans pushed into him, wrenching another moan from his tortured throat. The two of them easily set up a rhythm, plundering him from both sides, owning him completely. He let himself be pushed and pulled, choked and reamed, understanding that his place was to take them both into himself as deeply as he could and then deeper still. 

Owen tried to hold back and prolong their communion, but soon his hands were tightening in Michael's hair in a cue Michael knew well. Owen pulled back, letting Michael take in one deep breath, and then drove deep into Michael's throat and let out a wrenching groan as he came. Michael drank it all down, cherishing the inimitable sensation of Owen's cock throbbing in his mouth like a heartbeat.

"God, yes, Owen," Hans gasped, and that was what drove Michael over the edge, realizing that the two of them weren't just fucking him but were fucking each other through him. His back bowed as his untouched cock spurted across the sheets, and he cried out around Owen's softening cock. "Yes, yes!" Hans hissed, and a moment later he clutched Michael's hips and came deep inside him, grinding against him until his cock had pulsed out every last long-awaited drop.

Michael sagged slowly, not wanting to pull away from Hans but also unable to stay up on his knees. He ended up sort of half of his side, his head pillowed on Owen's hip. Owen stroked his hair gently. Hans vanished for a moment to deal with the condom and then came back, guiding Michael up toward the pillows. Michael pressed his forehead against Owen's chest and felt Hans spoon up behind him. He was starting to come out of subspace but he didn't want to, and he held onto the last vestiges of it as long as he could.

Had they really never fucked like this, or cuddled like this? It was all so perfectly natural, as though they'd been lovers for years. Hans's belly pressed against Michael's back and he suddenly realized that child would be born into a truly knit-together family. Tonight hadn't just been about sex. They were a unit now, in a way they hadn't been before. Whatever polite distance Hans and Michael sometimes felt they needed to keep was completely gone.

Hans ran a gentle hand down his arm. "That was really okay?" he asked. Michael was surprised to hear him sound a little nervous.

"Yes," he said hoarsely. He coughed and cleared his sore throat and tried again. "Yes. More than okay." His brain wasn't fully online yet, and he couldn't find any better words. Sublime? Divine? Nothing seemed strong enough.

"That was perfect," Owen said, all traces of his own doubt gone. "You're perfect, Michael. The way you took us both... God in heaven."

"We didn't hurt you?" Hans said anxiously.

Michael couldn't help it; he started to giggle, and then he couldn't stop. Soon he was laughing so hard tears leaked out of his eyes. "No," he gasped, "no, you didn't _hurt_ me, are you _joking_?"

Owen was guffawing too. "You've seen what he has in that bag of tricks, right?" he said. "I've beat him black and blue. I've put my whole hand up his ass. This was—this was a treat! We fucked him so hard he came all over himself! Oh woe, poor Michael, so abused—"

"All right," Hans said, aggrieved, "I was just making sure."

"Got a little top drop?" Owen said, more sympathetically.

Hans put his head down against Michael's shoulder. "A bit."

Owen flung an arm across both of them, rubbing Hans's back. "Come here, you. You're fine. You did just fine."

Michael shifted onto his back. "It was wonderful," he said dreamily. "Beyond wonderful. I'm blissed. Still coming down."

"Look at us," Owen said, laughing again. "Of all of us, I'd have thought Michael would be the one fretting. But he's happy as a clam and we're here worrying ourselves over nothing."

"I got all my worrying done when we were talking," Michael said. "Then I knew you'd take care of me, and then... that was all I needed to know."

Hans finally relaxed against him. "Well, thank you. For trusting me."

Michael reached up to cup his cheek. "We're family," he said. "Of course I trust you."

Hans leaned down and very tentatively kissed him on the mouth. Michael kissed him back eagerly, tasting his own musk on Hans's lips, knowing he tasted of Hans's cock and Owen's come. Hans moaned and wrapped him in a tight embrace, and they rolled over as they opened their mouths to each other, both laughing a little at the belatedness of the kiss—how had they skipped this and gone straight to fucking? Their tongues probed and slid and Michael was startled to feel his body trying to get turned on again and—

"Hey," Owen said mildly. "I'm happy that the two of you have finally figured out you like each other, but some of us need our royal sleep, so please either give it a rest or go break in the sofa."

"Sleep," Hans said, reluctantly disentangling himself from Michael. "It's late."

"Sleep," Michael agreed. He pressed back against Owen and pulled Hans close, shivering. "I'm _cold_."

"You and Owen can cuddle," Hans said. "He's a furnace. I'll be over here where the sheets are nice and cool. And dry."

"The nice thing about the bed being this big," Owen said, shifting over, "is that three of us can sleep in it without anyone having to sleep in the wet spot."

Michael pulled the duvets up, huddling close to Owen. He wanted to brush his teeth, but he didn't want it badly enough to brave the cold room. Hans generously got out of bed long enough to build up the fire, for what good it did, and turn out the lights. He came back with pajamas and socks, which Michael and Owen both hurriedly pulled on before wrapping themselves in the covers again. True to his word, Hans settled into bed a couple of feet from them, stretching out happily and then making a surprised noise. "I forgot about the foot-warmer," he said. "Of course it ended up on my side. Here."

Michael had expected an old-fashioned brick wrapped in a towel, but in fact it was a padded envelope equipped with electric heat. He and Owen managed to get their feet into it together, giggling like children. Slowly he felt something close to warm.

"Goodnight," Hans said, sounding very amused by their antics.

"Goodnight," Owen said, shifting around so he could get his arm around Michael's shoulders.

"Goodnight," Michael said, treasuring their nearness, their _them_ -ness. He closed his eyes, sank into the embrace of his sir and the softness of the ridiculous bed, and fell fast asleep.


End file.
